


Ungentle Reminders

by Sarahtoo



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Mention of abuse, undercover crime fighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 22:17:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11217363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: Our intrepid detectives are undercover, trying to solve a pair of murders, when their alter egos bring Phryne back to a less happy time.





	Ungentle Reminders

“You’ll do as I say, woman!” The words, which Jack growled, preceded the backhanded blow that he delivered to her face.

Phryne, her face turned away in the silence after the cracking sound of flesh on flesh, froze with her hand over her mouth.

 _In a dark alley, a dark-haired man with fury on his face hit her again and again, and when his fists were tired, he pushed her down, fumbling at his belt._ Phryne wrenched her mind away from those memories, though in this moment she could still smell the damp semi-rotten stench of that alley, feel the heat of René’s blow on her cheek, and hear the people talking on the sidewalk only yards away as she was punished for daring to think for herself. She swallowed hard, tasting bile in the back of her throat.

Those memories were old, she reminded herself, and the man who haunted them was dead. This was reality, it was Jack, and—all appearances to the contrary—she was as safe as she could be in a den of criminals. Still, her hand shook as she forced her muscles to loosen, forced herself to meet his eyes, her own half-obscured through the long, tangled hair of the wig she wore.

Jack pointed a finger at her, his body language furious, but his eyes anguished. “Don’t you ever. _Ever_. Tell me no.” 

He delivered the line through gritted teeth, and it must have convinced their audience, because Phryne could hear laughter and applause, along with a few congratulatory calls—“That’s the way, Joe, show her who’s boss!” “Teach her a lesson, mate!” “Give her what for!”

His eyes, though—his eyes said _I’m sorry. Are you all right?_ Phryne nodded, a tiny, jerky movement, and braced herself for the next part they’d rehearsed.

“I just… I thought…” She moved her hand, showing the trickle of blood that came from her lower lip—his eyes blazed with concern, and she shook her head quickly at his instinctive, aborted step toward her. They hadn’t rehearsed that, but she’d bitten her lip as she’d fought to control her memories. 

“You don’t _think_ ,” he said, his tone dangerous. “You just do as you’re told.”

Phryne nodded again, this time a larger, frantic gesture. “Yes, Joe. I’m sorry.” 

She wasn’t feigning the tears in her eyes as she looked at Jack. He didn’t look like himself, that was for sure—his dark hair curled madly over his forehead, unrestrained by pomade, and he had let his stubble grow; it glinted gold in the room’s light. Really, it was a good thing that he didn’t resemble Jack Robinson. “Joe Roberts” was a thug, albeit a handsome one, who had recently become a member of a street gang called the Wharfies. This gang was just like all the others, thieving and threatening local businesses, except for one thing—they were very hard on their women. 

Two bodies had turned up in the past three months, both of them once-beautiful women who’d been beaten and carved on before they died. The police had tracked them to the Wharfies, and particularly to Davey Coleman, the gang’s current leader. There was no evidence that he’d killed the women—the police were almost sure that two separate killers were involved, actually—but from what they’d been able to figure out, Coleman was a whoremonger who like to sample his stable’s wares, and he was never particularly gentle about it. And if one of his girls said no, well, she could be certain that she wouldn’t be called beautiful afterward.

But because there was no hard evidence—witness statements put Coleman in company with both women in the week or so before their deaths, but that wasn’t enough to get him on either murder—Jack had volunteered to go undercover to see if he could get some, and Phryne had badgered him until he’d agreed to let her help. They’d worked for two days with Raymond, Phryne’s moviemaking friend, to learn how to give and take fake blows, and even how to make it sound like those blows had landed. The constables who’d been set to watch Coleman had said that all of the men who were closest to him seemed to be ones who’d casually abuse their women, so Phryne and Jack decided that it would be best to be prepared.

They’d only been here two days—and not even full days, as they’d been able to retreat at night to the small apartment “Joe” had rented—but already “Meg” had visible bruising (the best that Raymond’s stage makeup and Phryne’s own skill could create) on both arms, her neck, and her face. Phryne was even rather proud of the way she’d done it, creating a mottled effect that suggested new bruises layered over old ones. She hadn’t let herself think for long about how she knew to do that, but she was pleased with the results.

Just now, though, she was wishing she’d let herself remember—she was having trouble pushing the memories of René away as she scuttled over when “Joe” snapped his fingers and pointed, sitting at his feet like a whipped dog. This act had been difficult for her over the past two days—she wasn’t one to bow to a man—but she’d managed it by convincing herself it was acting. She’d been ignoring how much it felt like being with René, subjugating her own will to his. Now, she huddled close to Jack’s leg, laying her head against his knee and closing her eyes, taking a deep breath of his scent. It settled her, reminded her that this wasn’t real, and soon she’d be able to be her own powerful self again, not this pathetically weak thing she pretended to be. 

Sitting back down into the chair he’d abandoned when he’d jumped up to discipline her, Joe laid a hand on her head—a motion that likely looked possessive and controlling to the other men, but that to her felt gentle and entirely like her Jack. Phryne positioned herself carefully, not wanting the lack of bruising on what should be her newly battered cheekbone to be obvious, and cupped the back of his calf with one hand. She lifted the other to wipe away an escaping tear.

“Just one smack, Joe?” 

Phryne froze again, this time from the menace in the voice of the man speaking. Davey Coleman was not a large man, but a youth spent lifting cargo on the docks had made his shoulders broad and his arms heavy with muscle. His voice was ice cold and cutting, even as he drawled, and she knew if she looked, she’d see that his upper lip had risen in a sneer.

“One is enough for now,” Jack responded, his own voice hard. “She won’t tell me no again, will you, Meg?”

Phryne shook her head, pressing closer to Jack’s leg, the very picture of penitence.

“Besides, I’d rather not have to break in a new one,” Jack went on, his voice knowing. “And Meg has talents that I’d hate to lose.” His hand stroked down to cup the back of her neck, and the bawdy laughter that came from the other men around the room suggested to Phryne that he’d made it clear with his expression that those talents were generally confined to the bedroom.

“She’d best take a lesson from my Jenny,” Coleman said, and Phryne heard Jenny let out a small whimper, as if he’d pulled her hair. “She don’t say no to me, ever. She knows what she’d get if she did.” He was silent for a moment, and Phryne felt Jack’s fingers on her neck tighten. “I ain’t afraid of breaking in new girls, and they’ll learn what I like right quick. Ain’t that right, Jenny?”

Phryne risked a peek in Coleman’s direction to see Jenny nodding, a smile stretching her lips as she looked up at him from her own position on the floor at his feet. Jenny was lovely—or she would be once the bruises healed—petite and blonde, very like one of their victims. Coleman definitely had a type, and Phryne’s heart clenched—Jenny was young, likely no more than seventeen, and trapped with this monster of a man. Perhaps, when they put Coleman behind bars, they’d be able to rescue Jenny, too.

“But where’s the fun in that?” Jack’s voice was non-threatening. “Beating a girl till she’s no good to you anymore. Better to train her up right, till she won’t question anything you do.”

“Girl can’t question if she’s dead.” The words fell like stones into what had become a very quiet room. “You ever killed a girl, Joe?” Phryne heard Coleman shift in his chair, and risked another glance—he was sitting forward, his hand gripping Jenny’s hair tightly enough that Phryne saw her wince, his eyes on Jack and a sinister smile on his face.

“Have you?” Jack was utterly still. This was exactly what they’d hoped for. If he could just get Coleman to admit to murder, they could call in the constabulary and get out of there. Phryne held her breath, suddenly desperate to be gone.

Coleman let out a satisfied sigh and sat back again, his hand loosening in Jenny’s hair. “Oh yeah. It’s best when they scream. And bleed.” He stroked Jenny’s head in an obscene imitation of care. “I used to just cut ‘em, but then Edith—stupid bint—corked it, and I realized that it was the best possible outcome. A girl who doesn’t please her man one way is meant to please him another. You get me?” He nodded at the man sitting to his left, a wiry rat of a man whose smile stretched his lips but never reached his eyes. “Yancy there knows. I tol’ him about Edith, and when his girl—what was her name, Yance?”

“Tilly,” the other man said, and his voice was almost—but not quite—as ugly as Coleman’s.

“Right. When Tilly decided that she’d had enough, he decided to show her that he was the one who said when anything was _enough_.” His laugh was a horrible thing, based as it was on the pain and death of two young women, and Yancy and the other two men joined in, their own laughs half derisive of a woman who dared to decide anything and half proud of their cohorts for their teaching.

Jack’s hand spasmed slightly on the back of Phryne’s neck when they said the names of the murdered women, and she squeezed his calf in response. This was better than they’d hoped for, really—the nasty piece of work had not only confirmed that he was a killer, he’d given them the second killer as well. Phryne fought to keep her own sneer from showing by turning her face farther toward Jack and letting the long hair of her wig fall over her face.

The next step would be for Jack to excuse himself—taking her with him, of course—and contact one of the constables who’d been sitting at the counter of the drugstore across the street on two-hour shifts since they’d come in here. The constable would alert the station, and police would flood in to take as many Wharfies into custody as they could find, Coleman at the top of the list.

Phryne heard Jack take a deep breath—likely to say something about needing to go buy a pack of cigarettes or similar—but before he could get the words out, there was a scream from the girl at Coleman’s feet. Phryne’s head came up in time to see Jenny rise up on her knees and the flash of a knife as she shoved it into Coleman’s belly.

“Edith was my sister!” Jenny screamed, the knife flashing twice more before any of the other men in the room could move. “My sister! And you killed her, you bastard!” 

Jack was the first to collect his wits, and he bounded from his chair to wrap his arms around Jenny, whose screams had turned to sobs. Wrenching the knife from her hand, he passed her to Phryne, who had only been a step behind him. Phryne enfolded the sobbing girl into her arms, pulling her off to the side of the room, her eyes on the other three men, who were rushing to Coleman’s aid. She was the only one, then, who saw the women who’d been sitting at each man’s feet slowly rise to their own; she watched as each girl silently pulled a knife and stepped up behind her man, and she didn’t cry out as they stabbed their men between the ribs, the blades angled to reach their evil hearts.

=====================

Phryne sat in the parlor at Wardlow, curled up in one of her gold velvet chairs, only one lamp holding the darkness at bay as she tried to read. It was very late, but she wasn’t ready to go to bed; not alone, at least. Jack had had to stay at the station to process the charges against the four women involved in tonight’s fracas, and he’d been there for hours, likely trying to minimize those charges as much as he could. 

Sighing, Phryne raised her eyes from her book to stare across the room, her eyes focusing not on her bookshelves but on the past. She’d felt so alone when she was with René—he’d made sure of that—but if she’d had other women in the same situation as she was? She’d either have been the instigator of a plan like the one the women today had enacted, or she’d have joined in without remorse. She’d wanted René dead when she left him in Paris; if she’d not had the opportunity to run while he was out, she might have killed him to free herself. And though she hadn’t been the one to kill him when he came to Melbourne, she had felt nothing but relief at his demise.

At the sound of Jack’s key in the front door, she blinked back to herself, closing her book without noting her page—she hadn’t made any progress since she’d opened it anyway—and leaning forward to lay it on the parlor table.

“Phryne?” Jack’s low voice was warm, even concerned—a far cry from the hardness he’d infused it with earlier.

“Hello, Jack,” she replied, smiling slightly. She unfolded herself from her chair, her lounging pajamas whispering softly as she moved. She’d been able to come home and have a long bath, washing off all of her faux bruising, but Jack hadn’t had that luxury. He’d changed into a suit, though, and he’d managed a shave and some pomade for his hair. 

“Why are you still up?”

She shrugged, coming close to slide her arms around his waist and press herself to him. “I was waiting for you.”

He wrapped one arm around her back and raised a hand to her face, his palm on her cheek and his thumb stroking her slightly swollen lower lip.

“Did I do this?” He leaned in to kiss the small wound even as she shook her head.

“No, I bit it myself,” she admitted.

“You all right?” He rested his forehead on hers. “Your eyes after I pretended to hit you, Phryne…” His arm tightened around her as he remembered, and she hugged him harder in response.

“I am.” She swallowed. “I’ll admit, had a few rough moments there. I didn’t… expect it to remind me so much of… of…”

“René.” Jack’s voice was flat. 

Phryne nodded, her arms sliding up around his neck. He wrapped both arms around her, and she reveled in their strength. Here was her safe place. Always. 

“He’s gone now,” she said, “and most of the time I don’t think of him at all.” She squeezed him lightly, her lips curving into a smile. “Why would I, when I have you?”

She saw him searching her eyes, and when he could see that she was sincere, his mouth quirked in his tiny sideways smile. His lips met hers again, lingering lightly, and her eyes fluttered closed. She hadn’t minded the scratchiness of his chin as he’d prepared for his role, but she did rather enjoy him smooth-shaven. The scent of his shaving soap and pomade filled her lungs, and she opened her mouth, encouraging him to deepen the kiss. He obliged her, and before long, they were both breathless.

“Bed, Jack?”

He nodded and turned, looping an arm over her shoulder. As they moved to ascend the stairs, Phryne spoke again, her voice quiet. 

“What will happen with the girls?”

With her arm wrapped around his waist, she felt his chest move with his sigh.

“I’m hoping that they’ll be able to lodge a self-defense plea,” he said, shaking his head slightly, “but I think it’ll be difficult, given the fact that their attack was coordinated.”

“Oh, it was definitely self-defense, Jack. When someone’s been systematically abused—” 

“I know, Miss Fisher, and I agree. Their chances of becoming the next woman who was ‘taught a lesson’ were very high, but they rather obviously colluded on that attack, though they might not have planned it for that particular moment.” He sighed again, his arm tightening around her shoulders as they made the turn into the bedroom. 

“And Jenny? How did we not realize that Edith was her sister?” Phryne moved toward the bed, climbing in as Jack began to disrobe. 

“Half-sister, apparently. Their father wasn’t married to Edith’s mother, and though he seemed to have cared for Edith, she fell in with a bad crowd.” He shook his head as he hung his jacket and waistcoat over the suit stand that stood in the corner of the room. “It appears that Jenny, thinking that no one was trying to find Edith’s killer—she was turned away from City North, apparently, when she asked there—went looking for herself. She heard rumors about Coleman, and she sought him out.”

Jack pressed his lips together, nodding as Phryne gasped.

“She found him, all right—and apparently, he ‘claimed’ her right off.” His jaw clenched, and Phryne shut her eyes at the thought of what that might mean. “She eventually managed to speak to the others, and they gathered the knives, readying themselves for when the opportunity would arise.”

Phryne made a small, disappointed noise in the back of her throat as Jack, having finally divested himself of his clothing, stepped into a pair of gray silk pajamas. He shot her a quick smirk and moved to climb into bed beside her, flipping off the bedside lamp as he pulled the covers up.

“With any luck, Jenny—and the rest of them—will be able to build a strong case for self defense, and it’s possible that a good lawyer could even work a claim of mental impairment to get them acquitted, given the abuse they suffered.”

Phryne scooted close, wrapping her arms around him again, her head finding its accustomed place on his chest, where she could hear the strong beating of his heart. He pulled her close, pressing a kiss to her hair and sighing.

“But they’ll all likely spend some time in prison,” he admitted.

“I can’t regret what Jenny did,” Phryne whispered, her voice small. “I was afraid of Coleman, and I didn’t even have to get close to him.”

“Coleman was evil,” Jack agreed, his hand stroking Phryne’s back. “The world is a better place without him in it.”

“But?” 

“But he’s dead, and he won’t suffer any more for his crimes. Only Jenny’s left to suffer now.” He sighed again. “I wish she’d waited even one more day; we’d have taken him away, and she’d have been free.”

Phryne lifted her head to look at him. Even with only the light of the moon illuminating the room, she could see the sadness that pinched Jack’s brows together. He’d be blaming himself for not being fast enough to get Coleman’s confession, for not realizing how desperate Jenny had become, for not realizing who Jenny was. 

“Maybe she had to claim her freedom on her own.” 

The words escaped her before she really considered them, and it struck her just how true they were. She’d been the same, once. She’d left René, but it had taken her a long time to claim her freedom from him. It wouldn’t have been the same if someone had handed it to her—she wouldn’t have been the same.

“She made her own freedom.” Jack agreed, lifting a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, his eyes understanding.

A pressure filled her chest as she gazed at him. Her Jack, with the weight of the world on his shoulders, still had the strength to lift her and all her baggage. Leaning in, she kissed him, her lips soft; his hand on her back stilled, flattening between her shoulderblades to hold her close as he rolled toward her, settling his weight between her legs.

“Mmm, Jack,” she said, her breath coming unevenly as his mouth moved from hers to trail down her neck. His hand swept up her side to cup her breast through the silk of her pajamas, and she sighed with pleasure. She sighed some more as he stripped her pajamas off and she provided him the same service, both of their hands busily touching whatever skin was revealed.

“I don’t know why I ever bother with pajamas,” he rumbled as they struggled to get to naked while still touching each other in as many places as possible. 

“Oh come now, Jack,” Phryne said, wriggling her now-nude hips into position beneath his as he finally kicked off the last of his garments and returned to settle against her, his arousal evident. “We do occasionally just sleep together.” 

“Even then,” he murmured, and she arched her neck against the pillows as he entered her ready body.

Phryne lifted her feet, bending her knees high enough to rest her heels at the small of his back, widening her hips to give him room to move within her. Her hands swept up his chest to his shoulders and then into his hair, bringing his mouth to hers.

“My Jack,” she whispered against his lips, and his responding kiss was deep and penetrating, his flavor making her head spin, as it always did. She had kissed many men in her lifetime, but none of them had flavors and scents that she craved as she did Jack’s. The taste of his mouth and skin, and the scent of him—on its own or mingled with her own—these were the things that called to her, even when they were working side-by-side.

Jack continued to kiss her as he slid his hands beneath her hips, tilting her so that each stroke he made within her bumped across the sensitive spot within her body. Phryne kept one hand in his hair, and her other slid over his skin, gripping at his biceps, his shoulders, his back; she arched against him, her breasts swelling and her nipples hardening as they swept across the light furring of hair on his chest.

Jack lifted his head, his breath heaving, and his eyes held hers as he continued to stroke in and out of her body. His lips formed her name, but no sound emerged, and the thought that he had been struck dumb by pleasure made the coil in her belly cinch tighter. Phryne pulled her hand from his curls to cup his cheekbone, keeping his eyes on hers as she felt her orgasm build.

“Jack,” she gasped, his name an incantation holding her together. “Jack!”

“Phryne,” he responded, his voice breathless. “Love you.”

Phryne felt those words flick a switch within her, and she managed only “Love… Jack!” before her climax broke over her, flashing all the way to the tips of her fingers. She felt the warm splash of Jack’s release as he pulled out to spill against her stomach, his own groan more a vibration against her skin than an actual sound.

Jack lowered his forehead to hers as his breathing steadied, and Phryne tilted up her chin to press a soft kiss to his lips. After a few moments, he rolled away, gathering up their discarded nightwear as he rose out of bed. He waved her back down as he crossed the room to drop the clothes on the sofa and wet a flannel with warm water; bringing it back, he washed her up, his touch gentle and his expression serious.

“I’ll be a character witness for them,” Phryne said, her eyes on his face as he swept the cloth gently across her skin, wiping up the residue he’d left behind. His eyes flashed up to hers, surprised.

“You only knew them for a couple of days,” he said.

“Maybe,” she agreed, “but Jack, I _was_ them, once upon a time.” She held his gaze, willing him to understand. “I saw what they were going through. And if it’ll help…”

Jack nodded. “It might.” He moved to rinse the flannel out, then washed himself far more prosaically than he had Phryne before coming back to the bed to climb in beside her.

“You are an amazing woman, Phryne Fisher,” he said softly, gathering her back into his arms. “And I am privileged to know you.”

“Does that mean you’ll stop complaining about my so-called snoring?” She said archly, laying her head back on his chest, her lips twitching.

“No, you definitely snore. Still a privilege, though.” His voice was dry, but so warm it made her shiver.

“You’re not hard to please, inspector.” Phryne felt her eyelids drooping. It had been a long few days, and it was a wonderful thing to be in her own bed, in the embrace of her lover, her body lax with the aftermath of orgasm.

“I’ve been told I’m easily led,” he agreed, snuggling into the pillows, his arms warm around her.

“Good night, my Jack.” 

His only answer was a soft hum of contentment, and Phryne felt that the sentiment was right on target. With a soft smile on her lips, she closed her eyes and slept.


End file.
